


ninna nanna ninnaò

by Piyo13



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-The Blood of Olympus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:25:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2520668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piyo13/pseuds/Piyo13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason can't sleep, and Nico has a good singing voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ninna nanna ninnaò

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minorthirds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minorthirds/gifts).



It’s been three months since the war ended, and you still can’t sleep normally. You’re tired, but you only really feel it in your eyes—the rest of your body is taut, charged like the lightning you so often command, and restless. You know it’s late, ridiculously so, but you can’t stop the pacing, the steps that carry you back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, tracing a beaten path from one side of Zeus’ cabin to the other, crossing both open windows and the single door. 

You reach the wall, stop for a second, and turn. Your footsteps resume. The sound of your feet falling provides a white noise the gods know you need, because every silence now reminds you of dark alleyways and bated breaths before an attack and even just the thought of it makes your heart pulse faster and the hair on the back of your neck rise. 

You grit your teeth, focusing your breathing, forcing your mind to other thoughts. You don’t really want to think about them either, but at least then you won’t go into battle-mode.

Leo’s death—you’re coming to accept it slowly, now. He’s been gone three months. You don’t want to believe, no, but at some point, you have to begin to…

And the breakup with Piper. Old news, from two months ago, but you’ve been in a relationship with her so long that it’s hard to have to define yourself elsewise. Even if both of you agree and know that you’re better off without one another as romantic partner, but rather as friends. You wonder if Piper ever thinks of these things (you kind of doubt it, though; Piper’s always been assured and confident in who she was). 

And then your role as Pontifex. It’s why you’re at Camp Half-blood now, actually. More negotiations. You wouldn’t trade it for the world—you can  _feel_  yourself making a change, see the results of your actions and the positive consequences—but it’s tiring, haggling with the gods over every tiny, infinitesimal minutia. You wish you could take a break, but given the deities’ personalities, that’s not an option.

You wish you could  _sleep_ , damn the Styx. 

You’re too lost in your thoughts to notice the door opening until you almost run into it, stopped only by realizing your foot was too close to a vertical limitation for comfort. You look up, confused until you spot Nico standing in the doorway, looking at you with a highly disapproving expression that stirs guilt inside of you for… for things you’re not sure about, exactly, but this is Nico and if you’ve come to learn  _anything_  about him over the last months of tentative friendship it’s that he probably has a reason for looking at you as he does.

You decide to take the delicate, diplomatic approach in this situation.

"What?" 

"I should be asking you that," he replies. "It’s almost four, you know that, right?"

"Ah, is it really?" you ask. You try to keep your tone nonchalant and a bit surprised, as if you had no idea, but you can tell Nico isn’t fooled. 

"You’re having trouble sleeping again," he says instead, intoning it just so, so that it’s neither a statement nor a question, or maybe it  _is_  one or the other and you’re just too tired to notice. You shrug. He stares. You give in.

"There’s just… too much going on, I can’t sleep. I feel exhausted but when I think about sleeping I start to remember the war and then I—" you stop talking, averting your eyes. Nico makes a soft noise that could be a coo or a murmur, before speaking.

"It’s okay, you know. To be scared," he says, and you look back up at his eyes, dark eyes barely lit by the myriad lamps illuminating your cabin.

"I know," you whisper back, because you do. You  _are._  And that’s the problem, that’s why you can’t sleep, that’s why you’re stuck here, pacing your cabin at unholy hours of the morning, pretending everything’s fine though you’re running on four, maximum three hours of sleep and you’re so fucking close to  _tears_  but you don’t want to cry, don’t want to let them out—

"I’ll sing to you," Nico says, suddenly, and you blink, hiding tears in the motion. He blushes. "My mother used to sing to me, then Bianca… it helps, when you can’t sleep, and…" 

_And feel like crying,_  you think the unspoken second half of the sentence is.

In the end, you acquiesce, and let yourself be shoved lightly towards the bed, ordered to get in and close your eyes. You follow Nico’s orders, figuring it can’t hurt, but keep your eyes open, watching as he goes around to the lamps in your room, flicking them off one by one, until the cabin is bathed only in the soft glow of moonlight that filters through the un-blinded and un-curtained windows. He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t press and ask you what’s wrong, and for that you’re grateful because you’d like to be in denial just a little bit longer, and he’s allowing you that.

Nico returns and sits on the end of your bed, shifting around a bit until he’s comfortable. “Close your eyes,” he instructs again, and you do so, if only to humor him. His intentions for that are unclear, but you trust him implicitly, enough to let your guard down. You hear him take a deep breath, and then he starts singing. It’s not a song you’ve ever heard and it’s clearly not in English, but that’s all more than okay because Nico’s voice is low and melodic, the words rolling off his tongue in a way that screams sadness that only the loss of loved ones can bring. 

“ _Ninna nanna, ninnaò  
questo bimbo, a chi lo do…”_

You open your eyes again, searching out his silhouette. If he notices you’re looking, he doesn’t let you know, continuing his song, the soft rhythm pulling at you. 

"… _se lo do alla Befana_  
 _me lo tiene una settimana…_ ”

You have half a mind to ask him what it means, but in the end you stay silent. The song is too beautiful to interrupt, and maybe, you think to yourself, that’s not the only thing.

_"…se lo do all’Uomo Nero  
me lo tiene un anno intero…”_

You wonder why he’s even here. You hadn’t thought to question it earlier, because Nico belongs to the darkness like nothing else you’ve ever seen, and seeing him at night has become more common than seeing him during the day. You resolve to ask him tomorrow, when you’ll be more coherent (you hope).

_"…se lo do al Lupo Bianco  
me lo tiene tanto tanto…”_

You can only imagine how that conversation will go—you’re willing to bet it’s easier to take Mrs. O’Leary for a 'simple walk' around the neighborhood than it will be to ask Nico why he’s wandering camp at four A.M. and singing lullabies to insomniac demigods. Not that you’re not thankful, but you’d just like to know.

“ _…ninna nanna, ninnaò  
questo bimbo, a chi lo do…”_

You can feel the song seeping into your body, the tenseness fading slowly but surely, and think that Nico’s probably right, you should sleep more.   
  
" _…ninna nanna, ninnaò_  
 _quest’ amore, a chi lo do…”_

You close your eyes, finally, tiredly, but Nico keeps singing, his voice still soft and measured, lilting something beautiful as he sits on the edge of your bed, neither tilted towards you nor away, his gentle words luring you into sleep.

_"…lo do a te, finché vivrò  
solo te, io amerò…”_

**Author's Note:**

> Ninna nanna is a traditional Italian lullaby. The first parts that Nico's singing I stole from [here,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wd5sO3gRGeo) but then the last two stanzas in the fic are from an adaptation, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRcFq9ptcTM) (which can be still sung to the original tune, which is what Nico's doing). 
> 
> Translation provided by me (of the stanzas featured in the fic, in order):  
> "Ninna nanna, ninnaò / to whom do I give this child / if I give it to the Befana / she'll take it for a week / if I give it to the Boogeyman / he'll take it for a whole year / if I give it to the white wolf / he'll take it for a long long while / ninna nanna ninnaò / to whom do I give this child... /ninna nanna ninnaò / to whom do I give this love / I'll give it to you, as long as I live / I will love only you"


End file.
